


Heart Transplant

by foxyplaydate



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:31:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2684483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxyplaydate/pseuds/foxyplaydate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patroclus is a trauma surgeon. The best trauma surgeon. Briseis works in Maternity. Achilles calls the wrong person. <br/>Or the right person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not writing this with any kind of goal in mind. Just as a warm up for an original short film I'm working on with a friend. Let me know what direction I should be going with this.   
> Also I apologize to people who actually know anything about medicine and surgery or anything related to hospitals.   
> I can barely put a band aid on.

                There is always a lot of noise in the trauma center. Hospitals have two forms of existence, eerily silent or deafeningly loud. Both can mean disaster, and both can be for no reason, so neither ever really gives Patroclus a feeling of comfort or ease. The trauma center, though, that was always loud. Multiple patients coming in who needed proper diagnosis and treatment on the spot. The ability to make decisions on the fly with injuries that were constantly changing. It was a high paced and loud place to be.   
                Patroclus preferred working the trauma center. He lived for the adrenaline rush that came from making impulse decisions that held lives in the balance. He was good at it. As a doctor, Patroclus was the best in his field. Being the best meant he was always in demand, and luckily there were enough accidents to keep his hands busy.

                But even he had to take a break from pulling metal shards out of skulls every once in a while to just enjoy the best cup of coffee he has ever had.

                I.E: Every cup of coffee is the best cup of coffee after a forty-eight hour shift. Regardless of point of origin. Coffee is fuel. Fuel means another surgery.

                “Sitting down? I thought that was just a myth,” a snarky voice quipped as he inhaled the liquid life. Patroclus ignored her. He knew he had a reputation for being a workaholic, but he couldn’t help it. He just loved saving lives too much. “So, what’s the verdict? How does keeping your hands clean of blood feel?”

                “Aren’t you the reigning expert on keeping your hands clean, Briseis? I haven’t seen you in the O.R. in days now, what exactly have you been doing?” He replied. Wasting time when he could be rejuvenating himself.

                “Well, in case you didn’t know I have been busying myself with not only my charts, but yours as well. You’re welcome,” she answered. Just then Briseis was possibly the second most precious thing in the world.

                “You are a god send, Briseis, a pure holy miracle,” Patroclus said in praise, “Let buy you a cup of coffee.”   
                “The coffee is free.”

                “I never said I was buying you kopi luwak,” He laughed standing to pour her a cup. “I’ve got a double amputation in a few hours, want in?” That was how you thank someone for handling your paperwork while you dove headfirst, nearly literally, into a pulmonary hemorrhage or two, or three. Seriously though, it’s not his fault people can’t keep their lungs from bleeding out.  

                “Can’t, I’ve got triplets on the way right now,” Briseis responded, “And you have students who could be in on that surgery.”

                “You’re my student, aren’t you?” Patroclus teased pouring himself a second cup of coffee. Could be his third. Who kept track of coffee intake anyways? And it was true, Briseis had been his student at one time. She was top of her class, learning faster than anyone he had ever seen before and handling even the most daunting first time surgeries with the passion that experienced surgeons hadn’t earned after years of leaving their internships.

                “Not anymore I’m not, besides it’s not fair to the kids who want to stay in your department. Offer the double amputation as a reward and then just give it to the one who doesn’t faint at the idea of it.”

                Grumbling into his coffee mug he let her leave with a kiss to his cheek. As far as best friends go she was the best there was. However, this meant he would actually have to figure out some way to thank her that wasn’t an easy cop-out.

                His pager started buzzing just as he finished his second, maybe third, cup of coffee. And he loved it when that happened.

                Exactly eight hours later, Patroclus was on his way home for the first time in two and a half days, after saving half a dozen lives and at the very least temporarily postponing the death of another dozen more. Long enough for them to think of a long-term solution to the cases.

                He was exhausted, which was normal. A well-rested doctor was one who wasn’t doing their job very much. At least that’s how Patroclus felt. His phone rang the second he walked in the door.

                “I’m home and I’m alive you don’t have to call me before I have the chance to even text you, Briseis. Honestly, even if I were injured somehow I could probably operate on myself and be back to work the next day anyways-“  
                “Is that your way of telling me you’re bleeding out right now?” Briseis interrupted, a clipped tone to her voice. She was the most protective person that Patroclus had ever met, but it was something he adored about her. “Please tell me you’re not trying to stitch yourself up with a sewing needle and loose string from the edge of your sweater.”

                “No, of course not, I took a kit from the ER years ago,” he returned. It wasn’t exactly a lie, though. It was on his bucket list to close someone up on the off chance that he was just there when they got cut open.

                He was the first person to admit it was a weird bucket list.

                “I hate you, please bleed out.” She hung up on him. He threw the phone across the room onto the couch, which landed just as it started ringing again. He laughed and picked it up, pinning it between his shoulder and ear.

                “It’s hard to operate on myself if you’re calling me in the middle of it you know,” Patroclus said, “Seriously I could tear the skin and need an actual surgery at this rate.”

                “Well, I’m sure that if you’re operating on yourself you could probably handle a phone call. I think I’ve got the wrong number, by the way. Sorry.” A voice who was definitely not Briseis responded. “Er, you don’t need an ambulance by the way, do you?”

                “Oh, sorry. Uh, yeah wrong person on my end. Um, no I don’t need an ambulance I was just teasing my friend, or, well, I was trying to tease my friend who is not you, but thanks for the concern. No worries though, I could actually suture myself if I needed to I don’t really need to be telling you that, sorry.” Wrong phone numbers were always a little awkward, but this was nose diving into extended and uncomfortable.

                The man on the other end laughed a bit, apparently signifying that only Patroclus was feeling awkward about the situation. “Okay, but if I turn on the news tomorrow and there’s a story of a man who died trying to close his own wounds I’m going to feel really guilty.” Okay, that was kind of charming, but weird. This man was seriously overstaying the wrong phone number protocol.

                “No need to feel guilty, I’m a trauma surgeon I can handle a couple stitches.”

                “I hope so. Sorry about the wrong number, again. Hope you’re not dying. Bye.”

                “No problem, bye.” He hung up, texting Briseis a rundown of the last minute and a half. Weirdness scale eight out of ten.

                Briseis responded, “Should have known it wasn’t me, because I wasn’t joking when I told you to bleed out.”

                Ah, best friends. What do you do without them?


	2. Chapter 2

“Why is nobody dying today,” Patroclus said, exhuming himself from the pile of paperwork he’d amassed for himself. Briseis was on the other side of the table, finishing her shorter stack. “How come you have less than me?”

                Briseis sighed without looking up, “Because some of us don’t ignore our responsibilities in order to perform a craniotomy that a student could handle with their eyes closed, therefore buying time until the next surgery.”

                “You’re in maternity, the opportunity shouldn’t be presenting itself that frequently,” Patroclus responded, opening the next file. “Its twenty-fourteen shouldn’t these things be updating themselves by now?” He complained.

                “Leaves it open to error and misinformation.” Briseis responded calmly. “Your words.” Briseis had been a former student of Patroclus’, but now it seemed she had become even more responsible than he had. Able to handle paperwork and surgeries almost easily, while Patroclus preferred to keep his hands busy with repairing people rather than repairing charts.

                “Don’t take everything I say so literally, maybe I just meant it as a lesson,” Patroclus said.

                “Like maybe: do your charts so you can do more surgeries?” She preached, continuing her writing unaffected by his prompting. Grumbling Patroclus, instead of continuing the paperwork, rested his head on top of it. It was tedious and boring. He reached into his pocket to pull out his buzzing phone, intending to ignore it.

Instead a text from an unfamiliar number read: “How do I know if my friend needs a doctor?”

                “Briseis?” Patroclus started.

                “I was enjoying the peace, Patroclus, however momentary that it was,” She replied, continuing the unbelievable task of not being interrupted from her work.

                “Did you give someone my phone number?” He asked, it was not unprompted. She had once written his phone number on a white board at a bar with the subtitle: I’m here, I’m queer, and I need a date before my friend shoots me.

                Briseis took the phone out of his and and read the text, “I don’t know the number.” She replied without answering his question. He made a side note to ask if that meant she had given away his phone number at a later time.

                In the meantime he replied to the unknown number with, “If you can answer the question: Will this kill them? With even the possibility of an affirmative answer then they should go to a hospital.” Patroclus smiled, pleased he was able to remain clever even in the event that someone may be seriously injured somewhere.

                A picture of a leg with a pretty significant, however not life threatening, cut appeared on his screen a few moments later. Based on just the picture alone Patroclus could see that it was nearly half an inch deep, with jagged edges. It definitely needed stitches in order to avoid infection. He replied with just that and offered to send an ambulance out.

                An address and a thank you was the next reply from the unknown number.

                Patroclus would have made a mental note to call dibs on the incoming patient, but he knew better than to risk his life against Briseis, who had been covering a portion of his paperwork for a while, unprompted. He resigned himself to finishing the charts until one of his current patients staying at the hospital decided to try dying on him.

                He had somehow made almost no progress forty-five minutes after calling for an ambulance when they rolled in. Devoted his time to trying to break Briseis’ impenetrable concentration had been just as unsuccessful. He didn’t know for sure, but considering how the only cases that had shown up to the hospital since the mystery texts hadn’t been trauma related nor pregnancy related nor had they shown up in an ambulance Patroclus suspected that whoever had his number was among the small group of people following the gurney.

                Watching the group’s progress distractedly it occurred to him that he should probably figure out who they were, and why they had his number, but he didn’t stand up. To Briseis he would have said out of dedication to the less intricate aspects of his work. To anyone else it was out of sheer laziness.

                It wasn’t until Chryseis appeared, one of Briseis’ students, that anything happened regarding the phone number.

                At her approach, without even glancing upwards as far as Patroclus could tell, Briseis stood and readied to leave.  “How do you do that?” Patroclus asked.

                Briseis smirked, “The same way you can find a bleeder without suction.” She replied.

                “Oh, um, sorry Briseis I actually need Dr. Menoitiades,” Chryseis said sheepishly. Briseis, shocked and confused sat back down.

                “Yes!” Patroclus announced, bouncing up. “I’m so happy I could die! Goodbye, Briseis, I hope we never meet this way again.” He stood, leaving his pile of work open and where it was, following Chryseis down the room to where another student was currently suturing the wound from the picture. A quick assessment of the situation showed the man in the bed to be under no signs of traumatic duress, nor did anyone appear to be asking him any questions regarding medical procedures of any kind.

                “Are you the doctor who sent the ambulance?” A man on the other side of the bed asked, he was, based purely on a first impression, made out of solid gold. Sun colored, rings fell around his face and his skin was darkened by too much exposure to vitamin D. He was beautiful, that much was for sure.

                Patroclus finished ogling and replied, “I am, and I’m assuming you’re the one who asked for it considering this appears to be the friend who might need a hospital?”

                “I guess its good luck I didn’t get the wrong number this time, huh?” It took approximately two seconds for that statement to make sense to Patroclus. The reason the man had his number was because it was the same man who had called him a couple weeks before.

                Patroclus laughed, “Well that is one mystery cleared up. I’m assuming that everything here is under control?” Beautiful as this stranger was he really did need to finish his reports before another board hearing was called to reprimand him. He would need an excuse to stay.

                “That depends on whether or not you’ll let me buy you a cup of coffee?” The man replied. Which stunned Patroclus for a second. He was sure his mouth was hanging open because he had to close it to look at the phone in his hand that had decided to buzz.

                Briseis: _What is going on???_

Patroclus: _Wrong phone number._

                “I-uh. I’m sorry?” Patroclus asked, stupidly. He’d heard the man perfectly fine, but that seemed to be the only thing that wanted to come out of his mouth. He was only good at answers when he was giving them to hemorrhaging livers.

                Briseis: _Who is that????_

Patroclus: _Wrong phone number!!_

                The man faltered, just for a second, before saying, “I’m not really threatening to descend this place into chaos if you don’t let me buy you a cup of coffee I was just wondering if I could to say thank you?”  Gifts and offers of compensation were not unusual from friends and family of patients, however it was common to turn down such offers when possible. Almost anything could be taken to look like a bribe.

                Briseis: _PATROCLUS!!!!_

Patroclus: _THE GUY WITH THE WRONG PHONE NUMBER. Asked to buy me coffee. Need out. Cut open your stomach._

Briseis: _!!! Say yes._

Patroclus: _Absolutely awful. Fifty points from Hufflepuff._

“Yeah,” Patroclus said, fully aware that the interns were going to have plenty of gossip to spread after this scenario, “Why not? Though this place could use a little more chaos. I’m losing my mind.”

                Briseis: _Excuse you, I am a Gryffindor._

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr! I need ideas for this story since it's basically just all one shots. I am at http://achillesvevo.tumblr.com I promise not to bite!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I know nothing about hospitals. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

                Coffee, Patroclus would point out, was the fountain of youth. To Achilles’, skepticism. “Trust me, work sixty hours straight and you will feel the life reenter your body with just a couple cups of coffee.” Patroclus insisted. He didn’t know what to expect from this coffee. It was purely thank you, but Achilles was already perplexing. He had never met anyone in his life who behaved the way that Achilles did. To him, when you call the wrong number you never, ever contact that number again.

                And how did Achilles know that Patroclus was a doctor anyways? What had Patroclus said? A few weeks had gone by and it had completely left his brain. He wasn’t even sure that the call was even listed in his phone under _Recent_ anymore, though his phone received about a thousand pages, texts, and phone calls each day he was at the hospital so it had probably been pushed back as soon as he’d gotten back to work.

                “Maybe offering coffee was a bad idea? Next time, I’ll buy you some orange juice, or something,” Achilles laughed. Next time? “How many cups do you have a day, exactly what level of addiction am I contributing to?”

                “If I told you how much coffee I have a day, you wouldn’t believe me,” Patroclus replied. “It’s a talent of mine, one of my best, after saving lives.” Which was…kind of showing off. Patroclus was actually kind of nervous, to be honest. Achilles was quite literally carved from marble. Plus, it was hard to look at him when he was smiling without either drooling or blushing.

                Achilles stretched up, setting the coffee down on the table, his legs knocking into Patroclus’ underneath. Patroclus pulled himself in, making more room for the other man to stretch out. He saw a momentary look of concern flash over Achilles’ face before it was replaced by calm. “What kind of surgery do you specialize in?” Achilles prompted.

                “I’m a trauma surgeon. I handle most accidents that come through here, mostly I turn the fatal into near fatal,” Patroclus said, iterating what he told the interns when they first show up. Achilles seemed awed by that statement. Staring Patroclus down without even the possibility of thinking that maybe looking at someone you barely knew that hard could be awkward. Which it was, for Patroclus. “What do you do, besides meet people accidentally over the phone?” Patroclus inquired.

                Achilles laughed at that, which was great. It was a great laugh. Wonderful and full of life. “I run.” What?

                “Run?”

                “I’m not a criminal I swear,” Achilles offered, holding out his hands as if to say, “Don’t worry not much of a criminal.” Which wouldn’t have been comforting if that had been what he’d actually said.  “I’m a runner. I run. I do marathons, and races,” Achilles explained.

                Patroclus smiled at the redundancy, “Ah, thank you for clearing that up. I’ve always wondered what a runner does, I just assumed they were novelists of some kind,” he teased. Turns out that Achilles was moderately famous. He had been an Olympic candidate on multiple occasions and was in line to be an Olympic champion for the next summer games. He enjoyed being sponsored and famous enough to have fans, but also at the level that allowed a degree of anonymity which allowed him to survive in public without being mobbed. Patroclus had actually heard of his parents, Thetis and Peleus’ divorce was covered by the news. Both were independently wealthy and it was assumed they would rule the corporate world together, but where Thetis desired power, Peleus desired prosperity. It wasn’t until Thetis tried to take over Peleus’s corporation that things got ugly between them.

                The man in the bed upstairs was Antilochus, a good friend and fellow athlete of Achilles’. They’d known each other since they were young and were coached by the same man, thus spent most of their time together. Achilles wondered if the gash from a bad tripping incident would hinder Antilochus’ efforts to make the Olympic team, and Patroclus agreed to take a closer look at it. They finished their coffee before Patroclus phone started buzzing, bringing the meeting to an end.

                “Paging Doctor Heart throb, where are you?” Briseis began before Patroclus could even say anything. She sounded urgent.

                “I’m in the cafeteria, we’re headed back to look at the leg wound,” Patroclus explained, without criticism and ignoring the bastardized codename.

                Briseis huffed, “It’s great when the on call trauma surgeon vanishes on you and leaves his pager on the desk next to the paperwork he doesn’t do.”

                “Oh, shit,” was all Patroclus could think to say. “What is it?”

                “Pager said code 1000, incoming trauma, some kind of pile-up accident meets explosion.” Briseis said, breathless, she was running somewhere. Listening carefully he could hear the sound of a gurney being moved in the background. “Get here, now.”

                He apologized to Achilles, but there was an emergency and he had to go. Or he tried to. Mostly he yelled it backwards as he ran off. Elevators were too slow in a situation like this.

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPEAK TO ME ON TUMBLR. http://achillesvevo.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how short the chapters are, kind of? I'm literally just posting these as I write them, they're literally all just one shots. I'll condense everything every five chapters or so or whatever.   
> Again, sorry I don't know anything about hospitals. Let's consider this the blanket apology for all forthcoming additions to me fucking up hospital rules and stuff.

                Patroclus sat after hours of surgery after surgery. He felt ready to lay down and never wake up. Moving from one operating room to the next, in order to be of the most help he had to delegate to his students and guide multiple surgeries at once. Scrubbing in If things looked rough, or if they needed just one more pair of hands to find a stray hemorrhage.

                Not everyone had made it, and the hours of running and yelling without stop left the world a dull buzz while he waited for a fresh pot of coffee and a bed. He’d had to tell three families that their loved ones had died, he held a screaming mother for an hour, and was nearly tackled by another one’s father. It never got easy, telling someone that a person they love is gone and won’t be coming back.

                It was like saying, “I know you just lost a member of your family, but I need part of your heart as well.” Patroclus knew the grieving process and how death can affect the living’s relationships with each other. He knew that because of the words he was delivering that marriages would end, people would stop speaking, others would hurt themselves. His voice would appear in nightmares and his face in visions. “I’m sorry, but there was nothing we could do,” which was a lie. There is plenty they could have done, they just couldn’t have done it fast enough. Or well enough. Sometimes you do everything right and they still don’t make it.

                He didn’t hear his phone ring the first couple calls, the third time it started ringing an intern asked him if he knew his phone was ringing. He jerked to awareness suddenly, like stepping on a thumbtack. He answered the call without bringing it to his ear at first, staring at the phone and taking a second to register it was a phone call, not a text, and thus needed to be brought to the face for communication to happen.

                “Coffee?”

                “I’ve already poured two cups because I forgot I poured the first,” Patroclus replied, realizing that he had done that as he said it. He was now the only one in the room, with two fresh cups of coffee sitting in front of the chair he was occupying. “If you can get here before I finish one you can have the other.”

                “How generous, it almost makes up for forgetting my birthday,” Briseis replied.

                Patroclus scoffed, mid sip, saying “I did not forget your birthday! I bought you that cruise trip!”

                “You gave me the cruise trip two months after my birthday and a month after the cruise had set sail,” Briseis answered, “You forgot my birthday and the trip you got for my birthday.”

                “Well I still didn’t forget it. I was just very late. Maybe I wasn’t. I could’ve done it intentionally just to throw you for a loop,” Patroclus said, wondering about the image it would send if he just skipped the mug and drank directly out of the coffee pot.

                Briseis hung up the phone as she walked in the room, picking up the coffee cup from in front of him and taking a large drink from it, “Damn you for getting me on this crap,” She chastised him.

                “Hey, you know caffeine has been linked to increased longevity,” Patroclus countered.

                “It’s also been linked to decreased longevity, so drop it,” Briseis finished. She was always a yard ahead of him, which wasn’t fair considering he was her teacher. “So how was your coffee with Achilles Pelides?” She smirked, raising her eyebrows.

                “Yeah, you know I always love talking boys after I’m done telling families their relatives died,” Patroclus said, “It just makes it seem more real, you know?”

                “Sorry, it was a bad wreck, wasn’t it?” She apologized. She gave him a full three seconds before starting again, “Moving on, how was your coffee with Achilles Pelides?” He finished his coffee, pouring another cup and topping off hers’.

                He sighed, “It was good. He’s nice,” Patroclus said, matter of factly. The truth was that he didn’t know. Yeah he liked him well enough, but it was just one coffee, the first time they’d met. All they’d done was get introduced, basically and Patroclus said he’d

                Shit.

                “Is Antilochus still in the hospital?” He asked, remembering he was supposed to give them a diagnosis on whether Antilochus would be healed in time to catch up for the Olympics.

                Briseis shrugged, “Since I don’t escort every discharge I wouldn’t be able to answer your question, but luckily you have legs and eyes and can find out on your own.”

                “Yeah, good thing about those, right?” Patroclus said, “I once heard of a maternity doctor losing both in a tragic coffee accident.” He said on his way out of the room.

                “You’re going to have to explain that one to me one day,” She replied, “I’m too tired to imagine a scenario that disastrous.”

                Ten minutes later and Patroclus had discovered that Antilochus had been discharged, of course he had. The wound was easily cleaned, and easily stitched. It would leave a nice scar, but as long as he kept it clean it wouldn’t be in danger of infection and would heal normally. He could have answered that himself from the coffee room.

                Pulling out his phone Patroclus began texting before he could stop to think about what he was actually doing, letting Achilles know that he’d finally gotten out of surgery and would still be willing to take a closer look at the injury.

                He got a text back some hours later as he was clocking off and getting ready to go home for the first time in a few days. Accidents always kept him longer than he should have stayed, and he was looking forward to getting some sleep.

                Achilles: _It never occurred to me how long surgery takes. I’m sure Antilochus would appreciate the gesture._

Patroclus: _I’m off for fourteen hours, tell him to stop by the hospital in a day or two and I can let him know._

                “Chinese at your place in thirty?” Briseis asked as they walked out the doors together, leaving the hospital behind them. She could literally read his mind, and it was eerie. He made a mental note to buy the helmet that Magneto wears to keep telepaths out of his head.

                Patroclus sighed, “I’ll get chow mein, you get fried rice.”

                “Of course.”

                Achilles: _Any chance I could see you sometime in the next fourteen hours?_

Patroclus froze. **Yes. There are many chances.** Though he probably shouldn’t send that. **How is right now?** Because he wanted to see him again, and sooner rather than later, right? He could be needed in an emergency any minute. But Briseis was going to meet him for Chinese soon. **Want to chill with my best friend and former student as well?** No. Briseis could not be allowed that kind of power so soon. **When?**

                Patroclus: _When?_

Achilles: _If you leave it up to me, I would meet you in twenty._

                Well.

                Well…

                No, Briseis still couldn’t be allowed that kind of power.

                Patroclus: _See you in twenty, then._

                He called Briseis, “Two things, first: I’m ditching you for a boy. Second: Apparently we’re in high school because that’s what I’m doing.” He could practically feel her death stare through the silence.

                “You owe me chow mein, Menoitiades, I hope you have fun. Injure yourself.” She said before hanging up. He really felt the love with her. Patroclus rushed home, which was not far from the hospital, and changed his clothes quickly. One benefit of living at work most of the time was that he was never home to make too big of a mess, but tonight seemed to be working against him. He walked out of his bedroom, and realized that most of his house seemed to be made out of dust.

                He had maybe five minutes to make something look clean and lived in. Or he would have if the doorbell hadn’t rung at the exact moment that he’d picked up a rag. He used it to wipe off the living room table, clearing it of most of the dust before resigning to his fate and heading for the door.

               

 


	5. RE: Reboot of this series.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PSA

Hi! I'm using the subscription notification email/inbox message system to let the few of you subscribed to this series know that I'm going to reboot this series. I haven't been writing in a long time because I've been very busy living adult life the hard way. But I hope to get back into it with this fic.   
I'll leave what I have up until I've written a significant portion/an entire fic. At which point I'll remove this fic and upload the new one on it's own.   
It will generally follow the same concept of where I was going with this one. Hopefully, I can impress you all.


End file.
